


Knocking's just a Suggestion, Right?

by neverafuckgiven



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Gift Giving, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sugar Daddy, Use Your Words, apparently lol, but only kinda sorta, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverafuckgiven/pseuds/neverafuckgiven
Summary: The first time Geralt sees Jaskier in women’s clothes, he’s back early from a contract. Old woman hired him to clear a wraith out of a house; he had instead spent the afternoon convincing three kids to go home and stop terrorizing the woman even if she was ill tempered and nasty. Not the most exciting hunt and he didn’t even get paid. He’s in a foul mood and so when he gets to their shared room at the inn, he doesn’t knock, just throws open the door and stops in his tracks.*Jaskier crossdresses. Geralt's into it, but mostly because he's into Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 42
Kudos: 1408
Collections: Best Geralt, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Knocking's just a Suggestion, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> I've written this and edited it like six times. I have a series I should be working on and I swear I am. This was just supposed to be my attempt at porn and then feelings got involved.
> 
> As always, I tried to find all mistakes. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.

The first time Geralt sees Jaskier in women’s clothes, he’s back early from a contract. Old woman hired him to clear a wraith out of a house; he had instead spent the afternoon convincing three kids to go home and stop terrorizing the woman even if she was ill tempered and nasty. Not the most exciting hunt and he didn’t even get paid. He’s in a foul mood and so when he gets to their shared room at the inn, he doesn’t knock, just throws open the door and stops in his tracks.

Jaskier is frozen as well, staring at him in the mirror where he had surely been admiring his reflection. He is a sight to behold. His eyes are intricately lined with black kohl, swirls painted along the corners. His lips are red with some sort of gloss and he’s wearing a deep blue corset, trimmed with black lace; it matches what he can see of his undergarments-

“Get out!” Jaskier shouts, looking angrier than Geralt’s ever seen him, and Geralt is going to go. Really. When his feet don’t move, Jaskier turns and throws a mug at him. The light catches on the baubles he’s wearing, necklaces and rings. Even though he catches the mug, it startles him out of his stupor to go, closing the door behind him. He can hear the latch being locked.

He’s standing in the hallway, holding the empty mug, still in his armor when an older man passes by, his trousers unbuttoned and his shirt untucked. “Did yours throw you out too?” The man shakes his head and pats Geralt’s shoulder before continuing on and descending down the stairs.

He can hear Jaskier swearing inside the room, frantic shuffling, and splashing water; it sounds like clothes are being taken off and he can smell the stink of unadulterated panic spilling from underneath the door. The panic is what moves Geralt, makes him pause and then knock on the door.

“Go away!” Jaskier’s breath is coming very quickly, too quickly, dangerously quickly, sounding as though he can’t catch it, which makes Geralt toss the mug aside and use his shoulder to shove the door open, splintering the wood in the frame and sending the latch clanking to the floor. Jaskier’s back in his trousers and his face is wet, the gloss gone and the barest bit of kohl smeared on his cheek; the ribbon on the corset is only half untied. “I can’t-“

Geralt understands now, the corset restricting his air, and he pulls his dagger, reaching to cut- “Don’t you dare!” It’s not as threatening as it could be, but Jaskier looks offended. So Geralt huffs, instead sheathes it and bodily turns him around, trying to tug at the laces. The gloves make his hands clumsy and so he uses his teeth to pull the right one off. With his hand free, the ribbon is easier to loosen and he can hear Jaskier start to take deeper and deeper breaths.

Once the laces are undone, the corset falls open. Geralt puts his hand on Jaskier’s back, listens to him breathe for a moment, and can smell the panic recede a bit. There are marks on his skin where the boning was cutting in; they’re already bruising and he has to clench his fist to keep it from dragging his fingers over each one.

“Right then. Out with it.” Jaskier stands, his back to Geralt, so he can’t see the witcher’s hand lingering in the space where Jaskier had been. He folds the corset and anyone without a witcher’s senses would be none the wiser, wouldn’t know that the calm is just an act. Geralt can see the bard’s hands trembling. “I’m sure you have a joke! Let’s hear it.” He sets the corset down and puts his hands on his hips. His eyes are red and the smudge of kohl is very distracting.

“You missed some.” Geralt motions to his own face and Jaskier hastily wipes off the rest of the makeup. 

“What are you even doing here? What happened with the haunted house?” He should have known something was amiss; Jaskier rarely misses his hunts, always on the outskirts scribbling in his notebook and shouting a word of encouragement or praise when Geralt does something particularly exciting. It had stung a bit when Jaskier waved him off, lying about wanting to work on a new piece. Geralt could smell the lie on him, hear his heart speed up, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect his mood at all.

“Wasn’t haunted. Just children having fun.” Geralt’s eyes sweep the dresser, the jar of kohl and the vial of gloss knocked over alongside some necklaces and rings; on the bed behind Jaskier, he can see the corset along with other bits of fine looking cloth. 

“Well, that would be a terrible song.” Jaskier huffs, trying to casually close lids and push the items into his pack. “That explains why you’re back so soon. I’m guessing you didn’t get paid for your troubles?”

“No.” Geralt shifts forward when he sees the corset get tucked away, unintentionally lets out a rumble of displeasure.

“Well you can’t win them all-“

“How long have you had that?” 

Jaskier’s shoulders slump and he sits down on the bed, frowning like maybe he thought they weren’t going to discuss this. Maybe they shouldn’t. There’s a reason Jaskier didn’t tell him. “A while.” He’s quiet. He doesn’t sound like himself. “It’s one I bought when I was still at home. Hiding enough coin to buy one without anyone finding out. I was seventeen.” 

He pulls the corset back out and Geralt can see now the little tears in the lace and how well worn it is, seven years old; the seams are stretched and the stitching is frayed. The boning is poking through the fabric in some places, sharp and unrelenting. He can also see how lovingly Jaskier traces those same seams, tangles his fingers in the ribbon, and how upset he’d been when he thought Geralt was going to cut it.

“I’ve never had the chance to purchase a new one.” Jaskier sighs. “I don’t suppose you want to hear all that though.” He wipes his cheek and looks back up at Geralt. “You want me to get rid of it.”

“Yes.” Geralt recalls how Jaskier had looked when he’d stormed in, happier and more content than he had ever looked before, wearing something that had to be hurting him.

But that’s easy enough to fix. Geralt grunts, hit with an idea, and stands, starts digging for his coin purse.

“I thought as much.” Jaskier’s voice is flat and he smells bitter, like he’s upset. “The makeup too? Shall I get rid of that as well?” 

Geralt frowns, glancing up. Nothing had smelled wrong with the gloss or kohl, but admittedly he doesn’t have a frame of reference for it;“Why would you?” He finally pulls out his coin purse. “Get dressed.”

“Geralt? Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer. Jaskier throws on a shirt and his boots and follows after him anyway.

*

The first stop is the most expensive and exclusive brothel in the city. Geralt strolls in with Jaskier in tow, past the guards who succumb to Axii quickly enough; the Madame looks them up and down and tells them it’s double if they’re sharing a woman. Geralt tilts his head and examines her and then the women behind her. They’re all finely dressed, some of them wearing decent clothes, but there’s one, perched on a table, wearing a very nice looking corset, a vibrant purple color with the sort of lace that looks soft to the touch.

He leaves Jaskier to talk to the Madame, very sincerely apologizing while trying to explain they’re not there for the fine company, and goes up to that woman. She’s smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Like what you see?” She bats her eyelashes at him, her eyes lined with kohl. It smells the same as Jaskier’s so nothing wrong with the makeup at least.

“I do. Where did you get this?” Geralt gestures to the corset. 

“Why? Thinking about getting one of your own?” She eyes him; he can smell genuine interest and attraction, but he isn’t here for her. He’s seen lovelier.

He hands her some coin. “For my friend.” He nods back to Jaskier, who now has the Madame laughing and stroking his arm. “His could use replacing.”

“Your friend?” She rolls her eyes. “There’s a seamstress by the bridge. Name’s Ana. She is gifted with her hands. Not as gifted as me of course, but she’s the best in the land. Not cheap.” She looks at Jaskier over Geralt’s shoulder. “It’ll empty your coin purse. Is your man worth it?”

Geralt doesn’t dignify that with a response. Clearly, the woman’s sight is failing her. He turns, grabbing Jaskier by the collar on his way out. “Geralt, where are we going now?!”

The seamstress by the bridge is a fair walk, made quicker by people quite literally diving out of their way. He feels like he’s on a hunt, singled out a purpose and hurtling towards it. Jaskier hasn’t stopped talking and asking questions, sounding more confused by the minute. It should be fairly obvious what they’re doing. And if it isn’t now, it’s about to be.

They arrive at the shop and the bell jingles when they enter; the shop is full of color and fabrics and displays of corsets, paintings strewn on the wall. A woman in her forties is on a stool, stitching embroidery onto a bit of silky cloth.

“I hope you have business to be barging in my shop like this.” She doesn’t stop her work though, doesn’t even glance up at them.

“I do. Hear your corsets are the best in the city.” Geralt folds his arms across his chest, ignoring the way Jaskier stops moving. “How much?”

This makes the woman, must be Ana, pause and when Geralt holds up the heavy coin purse, she raises both eyebrows. “That should be enough. I’ll need measurements, of course.” She reaches under the counter to grab her measuring tape.

Geralt turns to Jaskier then, who’s looking up at him like he’s just now realized what’s happening. Took him long enough. “It’s for him. Will that be a problem?” It’s said with a growl, an obvious warning, and Ana laughs, holds up her hand to stop him.

“You can calm yourself. I’ve dressed all kinds.” She ducks her head, taking in Jaskier’s physique, and stepping back again. “Any preference on color or fabric? Your skin tone, you’d be lovely in just about anything, but it won’t matter if you don’t like it.”

Geralt bites his tongue. _Blue._ He wants to say. _Make it blue._ He doesn’t though. It’s for Jaskier. Not for him. He should have whatever he likes. 

Besides, she’s right. Jaskier’s nice to look at, no matter what he’s wearing.

“This is too much.” Jaskier grabs his arm, steps in close to whisper in his ear; he’s embarrassed for some reason and the smell of it makes Geralt want to sneeze. “That is too much coin to spend on-“ His cheeks go pink. “To spend on my hobbies!”

“Yours is old and too small. You need a new one.” Geralt shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. “You said you wanted a new one.” He falters for a moment. Maybe he’s overstepped.

“I’ll need your shirt off, boy. The measurements need to be spot on.” Jaskier’s eyes are darting between her and Geralt, like he’s waiting for the joke to be over. But he keeps his eyes on Geralt as he takes his doublet off, the sharp scent of embarrassment fading to a softer, more pleasant smell.

Geralt looks away first, turning as she starts wrapping the tape around Jaskier, moves around the room to examine some of the clothing on display, and tries not to linger too long in front of any of them (not even the one with garters). Ana is asking Jaskier a thousand questions about color, detailing, lacing, boning, so many that Geralt tunes it out. It’s not meant for him and he doesn’t understand any of it, just that it’ll make Jaskier happy. That’s all Geralt’s really concerned with in the end.

“You can come back now, witcher.” Jaskier has his shirt back on and for some reason is also doing up his trousers. Ana is scribbling in her ledger on the counter. “I normally don’t rush orders; however, for the amount of coin you’re offering, I can have it done in five days time.” She side-eyes Geralt with an innocent look. “No input? Surely, you have something to add.”

Jaskier is fidgeting with his doublet, unusually quiet now. Geralt shakes his head, then stops, has a terrible thought. “Should he perform in it? He’s a bard.” The guilty expression on Jaskier’s face is evidence enough that he’s right to ask.

“As long as it is not laced too tightly, that should be fine. Too tight and he won’t be able to breathe, much less sing.” Explains earlier. 

Geralt nods and promises to come back in five days. Jaskier shouts his thanks as he leaves after him, practically bouncing as they make their way back to the inn. He’s still quiet, but his scent is exuding happiness. It’s almost enough to make Geralt smile even if he’s spent the afternoon and half of the evening running around town and spending the majority of their coin.

The moment they step back in their room, Jaskier throws himself onto him, wraps his arms around him in a hug that he’s unprepared for. It’s brief, but the warmth lingers even if Jaskier doesn’t.

“I don’t know what to say! Thank you!” 

“Fun part’s over.” Geralt starts pulling off his swords and weapons and Jaskier, no longer smiling, begins pulling at the ties on his armor. “I saw your face when I asked about performing. Do you wear it when we’re traveling, too?” 

“On occasion. But I never wear it during your contracts, I swear it!” Jaskier steps back, taking the swords and laying them on the bed along with Geralt’s gauntlets.

“Good. No more wearing it while we’re traveling either.” He looks ready to pout, but this isn’t something Geralt will compromise on. “I mean it, Jaskier. You couldn’t breathe earlier. Imagine that during a bandit attack.” 

“I panicked. I wasn’t exactly expecting you to react as well as you did.” Jaskier eyes the broken door frame and then toes at the lock on the floor. “Or as poorly.”

Geralt hums, but says nothing. They’ll have to pay for the door, of course, but he wasn’t exactly thinking about that during the fact.

“Why are you handling this so well?” Jaskier sits down on his bed and leans back on his hands, one leg crossed over the other, kicking his foot. “You haven’t asked me a single question, haven’t made one joke, or crass comment.”

Geralt pulls on a shirt and sits on the bed across from him. “You thought I’d be angry.” 

“I never really thought about it. People have reacted rather badly before. Lots of shouting, things being thrown-“

“That happened this time.”

“I’ve never been the one doing it though!” Jaskier sighs. “I just- I’ve been told I’m a deviant, a freak, a dozen times. I couldn’t hear it again. Not from you.”

Geralt shifts forward, pointedly makes eye contact. “You never have to worry about me saying that.” He’s been on the receiving end of those words often enough, knows the kind of pain they reap, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. “Especially not to you.” He pauses, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice his slip up. “But I do have questions if you don’t mind hearing them. Don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to.”

“I wager I can answer them before you ask them. I don’t want to be a woman. I’m a man and I like it that way. No, it is not a sex thing.” Jaskier squirms a little. “I just like the way I feel in them. I’ve never worn them for anyone else. Well, I tried once, but it didn’t end the way I intended.” He pulls down his collar to reveal a light scar on his collarbone, smelling unhappy, which makes Geralt’s chest rumble. “How am I doing so far?”

“Was more concerned with how long it all takes.” It seems like foolish now that he’s heard all that. “The lacing, the makeup. Doesn’t seem easy especially if you’re hiding it.”

Jaskier pinches the bridge of his nose and chuckles. “I just can’t anticipate any of what you say or do today. The makeup doesn’t take long at all. Putting the corset on and lacing it takes longer. It’s all harder with no mirror and easier with practice. The undergarments can be hidden well enough with normal clothes. The jewelry is written off. The makeup, though, the whole ensemble, that’s saved for when I have more time. Or when I think I have more time.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” It had taken the better part of the morning to put together, probably started it the moment Geralt left, and taken mere minutes to undo. All that effort wasted. No wonder Jaskier had been angry.

“A part of me knew you wouldn’t be like the others. Or at least hoped not. But the idea of you knowing, of you seeing me, of you being like everybody else, even if it was a slim chance-” Jaskier laughs suddenly, a warm sound. “You have never once apologized to me. This whole day must be a fever dream.”

Geralt huffs. Fair enough. “Get some sleep.”

“You’re right. I’m going to have to outdo all of my other performances if I want to earn back even half of that coin.” Jaskier yawns, doesn’t even move his pack off his bed, before curling up under the sheets, asleep before his head hits the pillow.

Geralt lets himself smile then. The city is big enough. There’s sure to be more contracts. He’ll find a way to spend the time since this is going to make Jaskier happy. It’s only five days.

*

The wait seems to take forever. Jaskier seems to be shaking in his skin, his performances even livelier than usual and Geralt enjoys watching him, but he’ll never admit it. They spend their nights in the tavern; during the day, Geralt steps out, looking for contracts, and comes back to find Jaskier, eyes lined and lips red, working on his lyrics. The first day, Jaskier is tense when Geralt comes back, the paper crinkling under his hand. He sits down and starts sharpening his blade, settles back into routine, and that seems to ease the tension.

“You’d think a city would be full of monsters.” Jaskier’s stretched out on the chair in front of the window, sitting sideways in it with his legs thrown over the left arm and his back propped up on the other, sunning himself like a cat. 

“They are. Just mostly the human kind.” 

“Wow. Thank you for that. You should have been a philosopher.” Jaskier flicks his wrist at him, pen in hand, and Geralt catches a waft of ink and sandalwood, takes a moment to breathe deep and memorize it. It makes his blood stir and he feels every inch a predator, like he wants to take Jaskier by the scruff of the neck and not let go.

When he refocuses, Jaskier’s kohl lined eyes are half-closed, locked on Geralt like he knows there’s been a shift in the air and he needs to be still.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t look away.

*

When the five days is up, they get a message from Ana to come back to her shop and Jaskier practically flies there, Geralt close behind. People aren’t as quick to move for the bard, but the few people Jaskier bumps into are eager to forgive all when they see the witcher snarling over his shoulder. They arrive to find Ana adding the final touches to Jaskier’s corset, not blue from what Geralt can see, but . . .yellow? Gold?

“You don’t waste any time!” She laughs. “Come try it on.” She’s holding up a pile of clothes and Jaskier starts tugging off his own. “Witcher, are you staying?”

“No, Geralt! It has to be a surprise!” Jaskier starts shooing him and so Geralt ends up on the other side of the front door. He can hear the shifting of fabric inside along with quiet murmuring and smell Jaskier’s sweet excitement. He feels almost territorial like every stranger on the street is a threat, like they can hear and smell it too. Geralt ends up pacing in front of the door like a dog, glaring and snarling at everyone that so much as even looks in the shop’s direction.

It feels like hours pass before Jaskier joins him, holding a box like it’s full of jewels. “Ready to go?” 

He sets off before he gets an answer and all Geralt can do is follow.

*

Jaskier doesn’t dress up that night. They’re low on coin and, with no contracts, they need to move on before the innkeeper throws them out. The box gets tucked away and they leave, Jaskier strumming on his lute without a care in the world. Geralt wishes he could feel that way. He feels like his blood is on fire.

*

He tries to meditate, but he can’t focus; he falls asleep-

Jaskier’s mouth is red, lips wrapped around Geralt’s cock, his hands decked out in jewels braced on Geralt’s thighs, kohl smudged around his eyes. He feels like an intruder in his own dream, almost doesn’t recognize the hand fisted in Jaskier’s hair as his own. He thrusts into that sweet mouth, smells sandalwood and salt, but he can’t tell if it’s from Jaskier’s tears or his leaking, untouched cock. 

A heartbeat later and Jaskier’s bouncing on his cock, panting like he can’t breathe, and Geralt can’t tell if it’s the corset or how hard he’s thrusting into him; he has his hands on Jaskier’s waist and he reaches up, drags a thumb over Jaskier’s nipple where it peaks out from the edge of the corset. 

“Geralt! Don’t stop!” He grabs the necklaces shimmering on his bard’s chest and uses them to pull him into a kiss, bites those glossed lips, and growls, has his hand around Jaskier’s cock-

How could Jaskier even question it? He’ll never stop now that he has him-

He wakes up before dawn with a sigh and runs through sword drills until he sees daylight. Nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. The dreams won’t stop, won’t ever, ever stop.

*

When they get to the next town, Geralt clears out a nest of drowners and walks away with a fat purse that pays for their room the next two nights. He wanders around town in a daze, half dreaming, and stops in front of a merchant; there’s odds and ends and a small pile of jewelry on the table. There’s a set of silver that calls out to him in particular, a simple bracelet, necklace, and ring; there’s no diamonds or jewels attached, but they catch the sunlight well and he turns them over in his gloved hands a few times, imagining them on Jaskier’s pale skin, before he turns the coin over to the merchant.

Geralt tucks the set into a small black bag and makes his way back to the inn; halfway there, the bag starts to feel heavier and heavier in his pocket. It was a foolish idea. He’s half tempted to throw it into the river, stands there a moment looking at the water, considering it. Jaskier asks him where he’s been when he returns to their room. Geralt shoves the bag into his pack and doesn’t answer.

*

After that, he can’t seem to stop himself. The next few hunts, Geralt picks up something for Jaskier, little gifts that he ultimately never gives him: soft red gloss, a perfume that smells like sandalwood and roses, a dressing gown that cost more than he’s willing to admit, a vial of shimmery black kohl that looks like the night sky.

They all go in his pack as subtly as he can manage it; there’s always that rush of embarrassment that he didn’t think he was capable of. He keeps telling himself that he’ll stop or that he’ll throw them out. Jaskier’s been a lot more open with him, softer in those moments alone, still talkative, but infinitely more comfortable. He doesn’t want to risk undoing it all by losing control. He’d been doing so well until now.

Geralt still hasn’t seen him in the new corset. He knows it’s more than that, looks like a full set when he gets glimpses of the open box. He’s not even sure Jaskier’s put it on yet. He’s not sure what either of them is waiting for.

*

In a small town near Nilfgaard, an old man tells him there’s a beast in the forest next to his fields. He can’t say what it is; the stink of fear is enough to convince Geralt to at least investigate it. It’s probably just wolves. He tells Jaskier as much, getting ready to ride off on Roach, tells him to stay and that he shouldn’t be too long. He only takes the essentials and rides off into the evening to see what he’s dealing with.

It’s a leshen. The beast towers over him, groans at him, swiping with its claws; the deer skull and antlers cut a menacing figure in the moonlight. It’s using its power to summon crows and wolves and Geralt is tired, cut up, and worn down. By the time he’s felled it, his eyes are black and his flesh is pale with the three potions he’s taken. It’s dark enough that he doesn’t bother lingering in the forest waiting to look normal. He wants his bed and he wants his bard.

He makes it back to the inn, where he can hear the inn keeper snoring in the back room on the first floor. Geralt and Jaskier had been given separate rooms even though it made Geralt scowl when Jaskier agreed, nodding quickly. He had given Jaskier his things and told him to pick whichever room he liked to throw it into. Geralt trudges up the stairs and sees the door to his room ajar, can hear Jaskier humming in the next room over. He doesn’t even want to bathe or take his armor off; he just wants to sleep. He takes a deep breath-

Rose and sandalwood. 

Geralt suddenly feels wide awake. He stalks to the next room, where that scent is strongest, and pushes the door open with a little more force than necessary. Maybe it’s the sound of the door swinging open or the sight of Geralt standing there looking like a monster, but Jaskier lets out a sharp yelp and sits up from where he’d been laying on his bed.

The necklace sparkles at his throat, the bracelet at his wrist and the ring on his finger; he can smell the perfume in the air and Jaskier has the dressing robe on over-

“Geralt, you’re back! Are you alright?” Jaskier tries to pull the robe closed and Geralt takes a step forward, forces himself to stop when Jaskier freezes.

“I-“ His voice is rough. He clears his throat and starts again, his voice still pitched lower than normal. “I want to see.” He’s swaying on his feet, trying to stay by the door when Jaskier pulls the robe back open.

The corset is a beautiful thing, gold trimmed with black lace, the garters on it connecting to sheer black stockings; the underwear is black silk, almost obscene with the way it’s cradling Jaskier’s cock. Geralt rumbles helplessly. Everything on Jaskier is a gift from Geralt, a gift to Geralt. They’ve all been shoved in his pack long enough to pick up a hint of his scent and the room smells like rose and sandalwood, like him and Jaskier.

“You bought me all this.” Jaskier leans back on his forearms and extends his hand, admiring the ring and bracelet. “But you never gave it to me.” Geralt’s eyes are locked on his lip where he’s biting down, the soft red gloss making his mouth a weapon. “You know this is the color of your eyes, right?” Jaskier drags a finger up his corset. “Not right now, obviously.” His cock is thickening in his underwear, tenting the fabric; Jaskier’s hips are twitching, like he’s trying not to roll his hips under Geralt’s gaze. “You walked in on me that day and couldn’t stop looking.”

Geralt takes another step forward. He feels like his body is on fire. He pulls off his swords and they fall to the floor without a second thought. Jaskier sits up on the edge of the bed and reaches for him, tangles his fingers in Geralt’s belt while his other hand curls around Geralt’s neck, tugging him down. “Everything on this bed is yours, Geralt.” Jaskier’s breath is coming quicker against Geralt’s lips.

How is he supposed to resist? He kisses Jaskier then, soft and slow, in case the bard comes to his senses. The potions haven’t worn off yet. He still looks like a monster. Geralt wouldn’t blame him. He pulls away, his hands clenched into fists so hard that his bones might shatter with the effort to hold back. (The gloss tastes like strawberries. Geralt could live the rest of his life with just that and be content with the memory.)

Jaskier huffs and kisses him, a rough thing, that earns him a groan from Geralt. “Stop looking and **touch** me.”

The command is enough. Geralt surges forward, biting at Jaskier’s lips, hands pushing the robe off his shoulders; he grabs Jaskier under his thighs and hauls him up the bed with a bruising grip. He chases the taste of strawberries and tries not to feel bad that he’s smearing it. Jaskier’s hands are trying to undo buckles, a task abandoned, when Geralt just starts rutting down against him. Underneath the moans he’s ripping out of Jaskier, he can hear the slight tearing of fabric. His armor is catching and pulling the delicate lace and he pulls away, trying not to do any more damage.

“Where are you going?” He doesn’t go far, can’t with Jaskier’s hands clinging to his armor.

“My armor- it’s ripping the-“ Geralt kisses him again, just once because Jaskier’s mouth isn’t red from the gloss but from kisses and he wants to keep them that way. “It’s ripping your-“

“Damn the corset!” Jaskier tugs him back down, kisses him again, and redoubles his efforts on Geralt’s trousers instead. “You can buy me a new one.”  


Geralt groans and starts attacking his throat, pulling the necklace aside to suck bruises on the pale skin there. When Jaskier finally pulls his cock free, the ring is cold against him, though it warms quickly on his hot skin.

“Where did I put the damn oil?” Jaskier’s free hand is knocking into items on the bedside table, scrambling to find the vial, and when he pulls his other hand away from Geralt’s cock to quicken the search, Geralt uses the opportunity to scoot down and suck at him through the black silk underwear. “That is not helping!” Jaskier yelps, a hand shooting back to grab at Geralt’s hair, but that doesn’t stop Geralt from tugging down the waistband and swallowing his cock.

Geralt hums around his mouthful, more interested in the sweet little moans Jaskier’s starting to make than trying to be helpful. He can still hear him scrabbling for the oil, but he’s more than content staying here and driving his bard mad; every time he moves his tongue, Jaskier’s pleas get higher and higher pitched. He lets Jaskier’s cock fall from his mouth and tugs the underwear aside to lick a stripe from Jaskier’s hole to his balls; Jaskier falls back and his palm hits the table as he comes, shouting Geralt’s name. Geralt swallows it down greedily.

“You are a menace.” Jaskier’s panting, shaking out a laugh, before he starts weakly pushing at Geralt, who lets himself be moved, sitting back against the headboard. He’s found the oil apparently and spreads some on his fingers before shoving the vial at Geralt.

Jaskier straddles him, steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, reaching behind himself to fuck himself open with his fingers. His makeup is ruined, the gloss gone and the delicate swirls of kohl turned into smears. His throat is covered with bites, bruises sure to form. Geralt tugs his gloves off and grabs the vial of oil, smears some on his hand; he starts stroking Jaskier’s cock, mostly to hear Jaskier whine, to see him harden again so quickly it must be painful.

“A menace, damn you, put that on your cock, not mine!” Jaskier kisses him and Geralt absentmindedly strokes himself once, then twice, before he pulls him closer and starts pushing his fingers inside alongside Jaskier’s own. “Fuck, Geralt!” Now both of Jaskier’s hands are on his shoulders and he curls his fingers, knows he’s gotten the right angle when the bard jerks like he’s been struck, cock hardening fully. “Please, please, please-“

Geralt takes his cock and guides Jaskier down onto it slowly, groans at how right it feels, like a vice on his cock; he kisses him to swallow the babbling pleas for Geralt to just move and moves his hands to Jaskier’s waist to keep him still for a moment. It’s not until Jaskier calms that Geralt starts slowly thrusting his hips up, using his strength to lift Jaskier up and drop him down on his cock. The fabric underneath his hands feels too soft, like he might start ripping it again, but this time he doesn’t care, would see this thing in shreds as long as he can keep Jaskier this close.

He pulls a hand away to jerk Jaskier’s cock, only manages a few strokes before he comes on Geralt’s armor like a brand and Geralt thrusts a few more times, before he finishes, spilling inside with a growl.

Jaskier collapses against his chest, his face pressed into Geralt’s throat. Geralt gently pulls him off his cock and tugs him close, runs a hand through the bard’s hair. They sit for a moment, both breathing heavily, before Jaskier mumbles something about getting cleaned up. Geralt presses a kiss to his forehead and helps him sit up on the bed, tucks his cock away, before he stands; he wets a clean rag with the pitcher of water on the far table, taking care not to step on any of the items Jaskier pushed to the floor. (He picks up his swords as well and sets them on the table; he’s sure he’ll feel ashamed later, but right now he doesn’t give a damn.) He climbs back onto the bed and Jaskier uses the rag to start wiping away what remains of the makeup while Geralt starts undoing the laces of the corset.

He absolutely does not wince once he’s done and he pulls it away from Jaskier’s body. The lace is definitely ripped. He doesn’t know if it can be fixed. He takes it along with the discarded underwear and sets them both on the next bed; Jaskier swipes the rag over his armor as well before tossing it over his shoulder to the floor. He pulls the stockings off and Geralt can see the holes in them now, where he’d been too rough; they fall to the floor.

“Your eyes are gold again.” Jaskier pulls off the jewelry and Geralt’s tugging off his armor, each of them setting their pieces aside as carefully as they can until they’re both bare; Jaskier lays back and pulls the blanket over himself, not looking at him. Geralt wants to join him, but Jaskier starts smelling unhappy and he’s not sure if that’d be okay, resists the impulse. He can go back to just looking if that’s what Jaskier wants. “I hope the appeal hasn’t worn off now that the clothes and makeup are gone.”

Geralt cocks his head, not sure what to say. He’s always been shit with words. “Even more appeal now. Don’t have to worry about ruining anything but the sheets.”

Jaskier sits up just a bit to look at him with a frown. “Really?” He looks as confused as Geralt feels. “Then why did you get all of it for me?”

“Because you like those things?” Or at least Geralt hopes he does. 

“I do.” Jaskier sits up fully and pulls his knees to his chest. “I mean, you like them too. Seeing me in them. Why else would you. . .” He trails off, gesturing to the bed and then to himself in a way Geralt guesses he’s supposed to understand. “I mean, we’re not going to have sex when I’m not dressed that way.”

“You said it wasn’t a sex thing.” Geralt really just wants to go to bed at this point, preferably next to Jaskier; he’s never had a conversation this long after sex unless it’s in between rounds. Which makes him reconsider going to bed.

“It’s not for me!” Jaskier looks confused and frustrated now. “So you’re saying we’re going to have sex. Even without the clothes and the makeup and the jewelry? You’re going to want me just like this?”

“You think I need any of those things to want you?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out because it’s probably the wrong thing and Jaskier seems shocked, but he just has to say it. “I never needed it before and I don’t need it now. All I need is you.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything for a long while. Geralt really is shit at this. “Fuck, Geralt.” Jaskier grabs his wrist and pulls. “Come here.” And Geralt goes, slides under the sheets, pulls him close. “And I’m supposed to be the wordsmith here.” Geralt feels a kiss pressed against the underside of his jaw. “You could just say you love me like any other man.”

“I’m not human, remember?” He tightens his grip and presses another kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. “But I do. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course, I know that.” He sounds half asleep already. “And you know I do too, right? Don’t need all the gifts to know that.”

Geralt knows now.

Doesn’t mean he’s going to stop though.


End file.
